


Christmas won't be the same this year

by dearmrsawyer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Liam has nice shoulders and hands and Louis spends the whole time attracted to them and angry, M/M, Niall is mentioned but that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/pseuds/dearmrsawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam is a suburban dream. Louis hates him and his Christmas lights. </p><p>Based on <a href="https://twitter.com/ruffIedhair/status/543289658688290816">this post</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas won't be the same this year

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou to Bel for developing this story with me and giving it a read over to make sure it lived up to our hopes and dreams!
> 
> And thankyou to my beta Carlie who is consistently making sure my fics are better than they would've been without her.
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by the Jackson 5.

It had all started six months ago when the new neighbour moved in.

The house sells quickly, and Louis has been so preoccupied celebrating the departure of the Petersons that he’s given no thought to who would be taking their place. It’s not until he arrives home one June evening to see a moving van taking up an inconsiderate chunk of the street and a horde of Chippendales carrying furniture inside that his curiosity is piqued. Louis wastes a few minutes pretending to fiddle with the radio because he likes to take moments like these for himself.

Eventually he decides he’s lingered as long as he can without looking suspicious and makes his way up to his front door with an “alright, lads?” at the two men currently heaving an absurdly large flat screen out of the truck.

It isn’t until the next day that Louis identifies Liam. That morning Louis spots him down at the end of his lawn retrieving the paper, and Louis hums appreciatively. He had _definitely_ been Louis’ favourite member of the moving troupe.

He’s solid – taller than Louis, at least, which he likes to think is more impressive than it really is – with hair that’s short on the sides and curling on top. He’s also handsome; a little obnoxiously so, if Louis’ honest. Louis pries open a gap in the blinds with two fingers and watches him lean lightly on his mailbox while reading the headlines, nodding politely as if engaging the bold lettering in conversation. He seems like the perfect picture of suburban domesticity, and Louis feels a little prickly just looking at him.

Despite living on one of the most suburban streets he’s ever encountered, Louis doesn’t exactly fit into that picturesque way of life. His house is presented well enough on the outside, although the lawn could use mowing more often than it does, but the inside very much reflects Louis’ lax attitude towards order and maintenance.

Mrs Peterson had made a habit of taking her shih-tzu for a walk every morning precisely when Louis was leaving for work. This had given her a chance to peek into his house and offer a judgmental tut loud enough for him to hear while still at his door, in response to the mess visible in the entry. Louis had started making a habit of sweeping all the mess around the corner into the living room so he would no longer have to start every day of his life with that sound. It had worked, but hadn’t add any more order to his life, and now that her family have packed up for the Midlands Louis’ entry is once again piles of shoes and grass clippings he’s trailed in because he drags his feet.

Liam handles the paper gently, tucking it under his arm as he walks the little path back to his porch and Louis lets the blind snap back in place before he’s seen.

Their interaction largely follows this pattern until Louis returns from work a few days later and Liam is in his own yard, a pair of hedge clippers raised over his head and branch trimming all around his feet. Louis is so distracted by the sweat-stained tank hanging loose on Liam’s shoulders, staring at the way his back ripples as he trims back another branch, that he doesn’t have time to save his dignity before he’s spotted.

“Hey mate, don’t believe we’ve met yet!” Liam raises his gloved hand in a friendly wave, and then he’s making his way over, wiping his brow.

Louis feels the instinct for flight light up his veins and he bodily flinches towards his front door, but it’s too late and he’s locked in now with Liam halfway to him and smiling so wide his eyes disappear. Louis isn’t sure what’s got Liam smiling like that, but he doesn’t get to ask as the breath practically seeps out of him when Liam stops just a few feet away. He’s bigger than Louis in just about every respect; Louis suddenly feels quite inadequate – which he hates.

“I was starting to wonder if anyone lived here,” Liam chuckles, and Louis has to repress a groan at that voice. “If it weren’t for the lights on inside, I’d have thought the place was abandoned. I’m Liam.” He pulls off a glove and extends his hand, and Louis’ already bracing himself against the moment they clasp hands, focusing all his efforts on remaining upright. His hand disappears wholly inside Liam’s, and it’s warm and a little calloused. He’s expecting his hand to be crushed but it’s just politely cradled for a few seconds before falling limply back to his side when Liam lets go. “I just moved in about a week back.”

“Right. Louis – I’m Louis. Live here obviously.” He throws a thumb in the direction of his house and Liam smiles in approval.

“Nice place.” Bless him, having only seen the outside. “Have you lived here long?” Louis’ eyes follow the half sleeve on Liam’s arm as he casually crosses his arms.

“Few years.” Liam nods along, overly pleasant, and he’s just staring at Louis like he’s perfectly happy to keep the conversation going indefinitely, and it occurs to Louis that he’s probably supposed to do at least half of the heavy lifting. His hand’s still very warm. “You uh… liking it here, then? I mean you’ve not been here long but – so far?”

“Yeah, everyone’s been lovely. Barely had to cook for myself since I moved in.” Liam does that crinkly smile again and his eyes vanish over a bashful laugh. Louis’ mouth curls up weakly.

“Well I should head in,” and Louis nods to his house. “Get me own tea started.”

“Oh yeah sure, didn’t mean to hold you up! Glad we could finally meet, I’m sure I’ll see you ‘round, yeah?”

Liam offers his hand a second time and Louis instinctively wants to make a mockery of his excessive manners, but the temptation is too great so instead he lets Liam grip his mediocre limb a second time.

“Yeah, for sure.” Louis doesn’t intend on any deliberate interaction, not if he’s going to have remain on guard at all times to avoid embarrassing himself, but he’s sure they’ll at least pass each other by on the way to their mailboxes.

 

For the next few weeks Louis watches Liam become increasingly neighbourly with every other resident on the street. He returns Mr and Mrs Ethers’ casserole dish with a casserole of his own, drags his ladder up and down the street to fix a loose tile on Mrs Parks’ roof, trim the bushes in Mr Alderman’s yard, and even repair the swing set that had been sitting sadly in the Sawaan’s front yard for the past two months.

He slots right in as if he’s always been there, and as much as Louis enjoys watching his arms work their way up and down the street, it’s starting to have a negative effect on Louis. Because the thing is, he’s never been neighbourly. Not in the two years that he’s lived here has he ever exchanged a casserole, or joined in to push a broken down car down the street, or complimented someone’s blooms. He had tossed an errant soccer ball back at a group of kids playing kick around in the street one time, but the parents watching on from their lawn chairs had just fixed him with untrusting looks until he retreated back inside, salty and unthanked.

What this all really means is that now the neighbours have Liam, the antithesis of everything Louis brought (or didn’t bring) to their tight little collection of overlapping lives, and it’s not that Louis is jealous but he is more than a little irritated that he has to suffer just because Liam is so unreasonably friendly.

In fact, the only one that Louis is neighbourly with _is_ Liam, who’s committed to extending every greeting possible, and even a friendly clap on the shoulder if they’re near enough. Louis doesn’t actually do much at all – it’s really all Liam. Louis is not opposed to experiencing Liam’s hands, or solid attention from those chocolate eyes, on a periodic basis, but it only takes a few weeks for Liam’s good nature and everything that comes with it to start grating.

Every morning they share a walk to their cars and despite the fact that Louis is barely capable of speech so early in the day, Liam’s chipper and engaging from the porch to the car, always throwing Louis a wave before reversing out and driving off.

He mows the law at 8 o’clock on a Saturday morning, and Louis can hear the hear the compliments he offers Mrs. Guintoli about her petunias in the gaps.

And he honest to God comes over one morning asking after some sugar for his _tea_ , and that is really the last straw.

He’ll exchange the bare minimum of morning niceties if he must, he’ll offer sugar for sacrilegious purposes, he’ll even accept his eyeful of Liam’s seemingly ever-widening shoulders if Liam insists on showcasing them outside his living room window every weekend, but Liam has crossed over into a level of suburbia that Louis cannot abide.

 

It’s the end of November and Louis shouldn’t be surprised to see his model citizen of a neighbour out on his front lawn, surrounded by boxes of what are undoubtedly reels and reels of Christmas lights spread across the grass.

Louis peers between his blinds so often that they’ve started to permanently bend, so Louis no longer needs to hold them apart as he narrows his eyes in Liam’s direction, a scoff ready and waiting on his tongue.

Liam props his ladder against the base of his English oak, a string of fairy lights wound around his arm. The white tee under his open flannel clings insistently to his broad chest, and something akin to irritation coils in Louis’ belly at the fact that none of the other neighbours currently watering their lawns find the way Liam’s jeans to be barely hanging on objectionable. 

Whatever Louis had planned to do that day is long forgotten as he pulls his knees up to his chest, watching over the back of his couch as Liam unpacks box after box, stringing up more lights and creating little Christmas scenes across his yard with holiday motifs. He winds lights around the poles and balcony of his porch, and lines the windows.

By the time he’s climbing the ladder to reach the second floor Liam had stripped himself of his flannel shirt and tied it around his waist. Louis rolls his eyes, flopping his head against the lounge in private exasperation. Honestly what does Liam think he’s doing, practically putting on a show for the whole neighbourhood with his masterful hands and his decreasingly layered clothes and his biceps full of Christmas lights. There are _children_ about.

Louis rolls his eyes, but lifts his head back up. It seems a waste to miss the spectacle.

 

Things only get worse when Louis pulls into his driveway the following evening, already testy from his day. He almost jumps clean out of his own skin when a voice calls down, seemingly out of the sky, “Louis! Hi!”

Hand over his heart, Louis swivels around to find Liam hard at work again, halfway up his ladder with another string of lights and evidently still unfinished.

“Liam,” he slumps against his car, pushing his fringe back. “Hey, uh… seems to be coming along?”

“Oh, yeah!” Liam has hold of the ladder with one hand and the lights in the other, his posture as casual as if he were on solid ground. “Only got a couple of boxes left. Should be all ready to go by tonight.”

“Well, it’s uh, looking good.” Louis offers a thumbs up and Liam’s face cracks in delight. There’s a flurry in Louis’ stomach and he thinks that perhaps the Indian he had for lunch isn’t agreeing with him. He jingles his keys around to get the right one as his eyes catch sight of the starry bunches Liam’s stuck in between his well-pruned rose bushes.

“Gonna get started on yours as well, yeah?”

It takes Louis a moment to answer because he’s halfway through an eye roll, but then he sees Liam looking at the coil of lights in Louis’ hand. They’d decorated the office today and Louis had been sent home with the spare set for no good reason he can comprehend, but now it’s planting expectations in heads Louis would very much like to uproot.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “got a real masterpiece coming.”

He’s joking, but Liam’s smile is so genuine and wide when he answers, “Can’t wait to see what you come up with, mate!” that Louis doesn’t actually know how to explain the oversight.

He dumps the lights by his front door with no plans for it whatsoever.  

 

Louis is not a grinch.

He actually loves Christmas – coupled with his birthday, the season is full of just about everything he loves. Visits from his mum and the girls, all of them crowding into his house and filling the space he so often laments as a waste, the smell of pine and cinnamon around every corner, and carols that reminds him of his childhood days performing for his mum (she’d often told him he was born for the stage). Louis has every intention of enjoying this Christmas season as much as any other.

Or at least, that is until the sun disappears on the first night of December and Louis is lying in his bed with his eyes wide open, and every inch of his room lit up by the light show going on next door.

Liam’s decorations cover every surface of his front law and house, nullifying the need for any street lights or even interior lighting, as they beam directly into Louis’ bedroom. The walls and ceiling are aglow with red and blue and green dancing across a backdrop of brilliant white light that Louis wishes would at least offer passage to the afterlife.

A few minutes later he’s standing barefoot at end of his driveway, hands on his hips as he stares up at Liam’s house – and it’s somehow even brighter out here. There are strings of lights covering the entire front of his house, more lining every window and wrapped around every available surface. The trees blink and the rose beds are lit up by star clusters. The path to the mailbox is lined by candy canes and there’s a gaggle of elves singing _Jingle Bells –_ apparently activated by movement, such as Louis stepping out his front door. There’s also a light-up sleigh being led by six reindeer on the other side of the lawn, and the most absurdly sized star suspended up on the roof.

Louis’ confident it’s easier to stare directly into the sun.

He spends the first week of December fuming himself to sleep.

 

After a week Louis has perpetual bags under his eyes and a constant scowl on his lips. He and Liam still share their morning walks from their front doors to their cars, and every day Liam says he “can’t wait to see what Louis’ working on.” Louis never gives back anything other than a tight nod or an eye roll, which Liam, incredibly, seems to find chharming, before bidding him farewell with a benevolent beep that makes Louis want to ram his car into Liam’s.

Louis spends all day half asleep at his desk and by the time he gets home it's dark. Liam appears to have set his light show to a timer, because while his driveway is empty the street is already lit up like the surface of the sun.

 

He shields his eyes and unlocks the front door, stopping as his eyes fall on the single strand of lights coiled up just inside, unused and taunting. They’re almost a third of the way into December and even the stragglers have their lights up by now, but Liam keeps insisting that he’s sure Louis’ working on something brilliant. Louis’ barely said anything about Liam’s light display other than a comparison to the final scene in _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ , but Liam had just laughed and thanked him. Even a well-sourced insult doesn’t breach his neighbour’s agreeable exterior. Louis grits his teeth.

Leaving his keys in the door, Louis turns and storms into Liam’s yard, right up to the side of his house where Liam stashes his ladder against the side of the garage. It’s heavy and a little too tall for him to balance easily, and he almost topples into Liam’s roses. He catches himself in time, wondering if he should’ve bothered, and wrestles his way back over to his house. He rests the ladder over his garage door, making sure it’s steady before he goes to grab the lights.

Gripping the ladder firmly, he double checks it’s not going to betray him when he’s halfway up, and clambers up until he’s level with his second story. Liam had made this look so easy with his stupid arms and oversized hands, but Louis isn’t convinced the ladder isn’t going to topple over the second he lets go.

Holding one end of the fairy lights, Louis lets the coil drop and unwind, which is less satisfying than he’d hoped given that it’s largely in tangles, as with everything else in his life. After fifteen minutes of straightening it out Louis realises he’s climbed up ill-prepared, and has to climb back down to hunt down a hammer and some nails.

There’s an old hammer in his garage but no nails, so Louis pries a few out of Liam’s house that had held vertical light strands in place. “Don’t need bloody nails for that,” he mutters, scurrying back up to get to work.

It takes a good half an hour of stringing up the lights, unstringing the spelling mistake, and then restringing to his own satisfaction. He’s just finishing up the pointed underline when two beams of light stretch across the front of his house and he turns to see Liam pulling into his driveway.

Louis’ heart starts pounding so hard he almost loses his balance and falls, curses forming under his breath. If he’d only managed to spell the damned thing right the first time around he would’ve been long done and safely inside his house before Liam could catch him in the act.

Torn between pretending he hasn’t seen Liam arrive (likely pointless as Liam’s headlights had exposed him the second he’d pulled up) and staring him resolutely in the eye (more head on than his usual penchant for passive aggression), Louis ends up slumping quite unimpressively against his second storey, forehead pressed uncomfortably to one of the hot little globes.

He hears Liam’s car door slam shut and chances a look, almost dropping dead on the spot when he sees Liam standing in the drive, arms on his hips and eyes taking in Louis’ handiwork. Liam’s face is well lit by the lights coating his own house, and his features are strangely passive, blank and smooth as if taking a moment to understand what’s going on.

His face cracks, cheeks pressing high and mouth wide as a delighted laugh bursts from his lips.

Louis lifts his burning forehead from the incriminating décor, staring at Liam as he’s bent almost in half, hands braced on his knees to hold himself up.

“Brilliant!” he cries, coming forward and ushering Louis down the ladder. He does, feet wobbling on every rung until he’s finally on solid ground and being pulled under Liam’s arm. His limbs are limp, moving where Liam pulls as he steps them both back a few paces and looks up, eyes shining.

“Mate, that’s brilliant! Love it.”

The message is perhaps a little bolder than Louis had anticipated, the large “TWAT” adorning about half the space beneath his second storey windows, with an arrow indicating Liam’s house next door. Louis looks up at Liam _beaming_ above him, mouth gaping like a fish out of water and just as mute.

“Knew you had something great coming,” Liam affirms, voice as one of his absurdly powerful hands squeezes his shoulder. Louis’ afraid it’s going to pop right out of its socket.

“Yeah,” he breaths. With a final clap Liam releases him from his hold and Louis tries not to sag onto the cement beneath his feet as he’s left standing alone on his front drive, his side now vacant and cold. He sees old Mrs. Farren, his other neighbour, standing on her own front porch looking up at the mild profanity with a look of disgust, arms crossed and shaking her head.

Louis’ complete lack of concern regarding the approval of his fellow suburbanites is evident enough in the fact that Louis has written TWAT across the front of his house in the first place, so he doesn’t spare her a thought while the imprint of Liam’s hand still burns against his shoulder.   

 

It takes about an hour, but sitting in front of his television with a microwavable meal on his lap, Louis is suddenly furious.

Not only had Liam not been angry, he’d been – he’d been delighted. He’d literally been _charmed_ by Louis’ insult. It hadn’t been recognised as retribution for Liam’s absurd level of holiday cheer at all – it’d actually _encouraged_ him. Louis throws down his fork just hard enough to create splash back from his bowl, flinging curry all over himself.

He lies awake that night with a fresh shirt and lights dancing across his ceiling, determined to do worse.

 

Louis reverses out of his driveway the next morning, his first attempt at sabotage dim but still very visible against the cream walls of his house. Liam waves him off as usual and Louis hits the accelerator a little too hard at the stark reminder of his failure.

By the time he returns the street is once again already lit up by Liam’s house. Louis’ fury has been brewing all day, slowly mounting under his skin, and the second he’s out of the car he storms up to his front door, activating the gaggle of elves which begin to rock and sing.

_Jingle all the way!_

“Ugly little fuckers,” he mumbles, resisting the urge to kick them over before he slams the door behind himself.

He doesn’t turn on any lights – doesn’t need to seeing as his whole damned house is lit up like a live-in Christmas tree; instead he turns on the TV and ignores whatever’s playing for the next four hours.

The street is sleeping soundly, all aside from the occasional jingle of Liam’s lawn elves whenever a car passes by, but Louis isn’t in bed like his responsible neighbour. He is instead dressed head to toe in black, head hanging out the front door to ensure the path is clear, and creeping over into Liam’s lawn with very specific intent.

Liam’s lights haven’t yet timed out but Louis is confident in his camouflage, stalking between the bushes until he’s well and truly ensconced in Christmas cheer. The elves start singing the second he crosses over into Liam’s yard, and before Louis can even formulate his plan of attack he stalks over and kicks one of them squarely in the face, effectively silencing it. A cathartic flame flares up in Louis’ chest and he kicks the next one, and the next, and the next, until they’re all upside down or flat on their backs, not a squeaky carol to be heard.

He walks back to Liam’s porch, ascends the stairs, and jumps for the lowest hanging string of lights. It takes a few hops, but he eventually grasps one of the icicles hanging down and gives it a good yank. The entire string drops like lead, going out. With it comes the string above, connected at the end to form the pattern Liam had designed. In a couple of minutes there’s a hefty pile of lights lying at his feet, not a bulb still lit.

He doesn’t know if he’s broken the wiring or just pulled them out of the socket but either way it’s good enough for him. He moves onto the rose bushes, rips out the star clusters and candy canes lining the path, and knocks over the reindeer grazing by the mailbox.

He pulls down the lights strung up between the branches of Liam’s trees until they hang low and weary, finally stepping back to survey the scene. Half the lights are out, the other half looking quite despondent and no longer lighting up the street like they had. He’s breathing a little heavily from the adrenaline, one corner of his lips pulled up at the sleep he plans to get tonight. Louis releases a slightly maniacal cackle in triumph. He lets his head tip back and closes his eyes and cackles and cackles, and doesn’t notice the sound of a window opening until he hears a questioning voice above.

Eyes snapping open, Louis finds himself face to face with Liam, whose features are dark with most of the lights now out. Louis hopes his own face is equally as hidden. “Hey, what’re you—”

Louis dashes back to his house before Liam has even finished speaking, head bowed and back hunched as he hurtles through his front door, slamming it shut a little too loudly. He isn’t inside fast enough to escape the “Louis?” behind him.

Standing with his back to the door and breathing heavily, the lights inside Louis’ chest starts to go out one by one, just like Liam’s. The triumph of seconds earlier starts to drain out of him, leaving behind something cold, sucking his chest in instead of puffing it out. Every merciless urge inside him deflates, replaced by Liam looking sleepy and confused as Louis pulls apart his hard work, and suddenly Louis isn’t sure why he thought it’d be worth it.

Louis’ room is doused in an appropriate darkness that night, but he doesn’t sleep.

 

The next morning Louis’ exit is poorly timed, but it doesn’t matter because the second he spots Liam, Liam spots Louis too, and he’s ducking low into his car without so much as a general nod of his head, much less his usual animated greeting. He drives off before Louis has a chance to even offer his own nod, and the vacuum inside his chest sucks harder at his heart, making him hunch and almost give in to the pressure.

It’s a slow day, which means Louis has an abundance of time to think about all the ways in which he is a second-class human being, and to imagine all the mornings for the rest of his life, either he or Liam throwing themselves into their cars and causing a hazard trying to get away fast enough to avoid any sort of interaction. It sounds like so much work and Louis buries his head in his hands.

That night Louis isn’t sure what he expects to find when he gets home, but it isn’t a completely dark street and a bare lawn next to his own. Liam’s car is already in the drive, and there’s not a festive embellishment in sight. Louis’ lights are still up, but thankfully not on, and he’s too ashamed to steal Liam’s ladder a second time, so he hangs out his second storey window and pulls them off after midnight.

 

That dissatisfying weight sits steady in his chest every night he drives home that week. He doesn’t see Liam for days, who seems to have rearranged his schedule of arrivals and departures so they no longer line up with Louis'. However, when Louis comes home on Friday night, he sees Liam standing by his mailbox engaged in conversation with Mr. Parks.

Louis is tempted to just keep driving, do a loop of the block and hope that they’re gone by the time he’s back, but his car has a very distinct groan to it and he knows that anyone can recognise it from the moment he turns onto the street. At this point it’s more embarrassing to try any sort of play than it is to just suck it up and hope that Liam is too engaged in conversation to pay him any mind.

He shifts his car into park with its usual unsettling clunk and gets out, closing his door as softly as possible to avoid drawing any eyes. He can hear Liam and Mr. Parks talking, and with a swooping stomach realises they’re talking about the lights.

“—outrageous, it brought so much life to the street. Do you know who’s responsible?”

Louis’ heart almost self-sabotages on the spot. He clutches his keys tight in one hand so they don’t jingle and lowers his head, moving quickly up the steps to his front door. He’s already the most unpopular neighbour on the street; the second everyone finds out he terrorised Liam Payne they’ll be picketing outside his house. He fumbles with his keys in the door, desperate to get inside before he’s exposed.

But all he hears is Liam say, “Must’ve been some kids out late, looking to cause trouble, you know.”

He freezes, mouth falling open, and he doesn’t dare look back. He hears Mr Parks’ disapproving huff but can only imagine Liam’s soft, sad expression, as if he’s the one who’d done wrong. He wants to move, commands himself to move, but he can’t.

“Well it’s a damn shame,” Mr Parks goes on. “It’s been too long since someone brought a little life to the street during the holidays.”

“Yes sir.” Liam’s voice is woeful and Louis jams his key into the lock, almost falling inside before he hears anymore. The vacuuming suction inside him is finally still, allowing a sick feeling to settle comfortably in his stomach. He starts to fret; is he ever going to escape this feeling? He lives right next to Liam. Are his actions going to follow him around for the rest of his life, never letting him forget, or live, ever present in the big orderly house and neighbour just outside?

Liam had protected him. After Louis’ juvenile act of cruelty, Liam hadn’t become angry or vengeful, or even sought sympathy from any one of the many neighbours who offer Liam the decency he deserves. Louis may not be the model etiquette, but he’d never been deliberately mean-spirited like this.

Louis slides down until his legs are folded up in front of him and he can drop his head to his knees. “You bastard,” he murmurs, and whether he means Liam or himself, he’s not sure.

 

He has a beer for dinner and periodically switches between lounging in front of the TV taking nothing in, and looking out various windows, all of which show how depressingly dark and bare Liam’s front lawn is. He has a few texts from Niall, the most recent one inviting him out for a beer, but he ignores all of them, in no mood to go anywhere and celebrate anything with anyone.

He feels a mixture of shame and anger still writhing around in his belly, and when he eventually tries to call it a night and get some sleep, it’s so unsuccessful that he ends up jumping back out of bed, climbing back into the blackest outfit he can find, and cursing progressively louder as he searches for a pair of shoes.

Louis knows for a fact that Liam keeps his boxes of holiday cheer in the garage, so he slinks around the side of his own house, hopping the small shrubbery into Liam’s yard, and then sidling up along the edge of his garage. He can see into his own lounge room from here and is relieved to find that it isn’t facing a more lived-in part of Liam’s house, as it’s a sty and Louis never closes the blinds.

The ladder is still propped up against the side of the garage, but just beside it is a window. Louis crosses his fingers, prays that Liam maintains the same level of carelessness about home security as himself, and successfully pulls the window open. It slides easily, no incriminating creak, and it occurs to Louis that perhaps the reason for Liam’s lack of locks is not carelessness but trust. Typical Liam. He’ll learn.

Louis braces his hands against the bottom of the window frame, which sits roughly halfway up his chest. His arms don’t hold a Christmas candle to Liam’s, but he’s still able to hoist himself up and sling one leg over so he can drop into the garage without causing too much of a fuss. This spectacularly fails when he lands slightly wonky, knocking over a broom with one foot while the other one lands on a paint tin. He crashes to the floor as the tin begins rolling towards the steel garage door, but Louis is able to grab it before it wakes up the entire neighbourhood.

There are approximately two dozen boxes, is the thing, and Louis’ wondering if he’ll even have the time to finish this by the time the sun’s up. He figures he’ll just do what he can before dawn exposes him and then slink back home. He can call in sick and sleep off the hardest night’s work he’ll ever do.

There’s an adjoining door leading from the garage into Liam’s house, and Louis’ never been inside Liam’s house before, but it seems appropriate that his first time is during a B and E. The door, thankfully, is also unlocked, and with one of the smaller boxes in hand Louis steps up into what appears to be Liam’s entrance hall, the front door to his left.

It’s dark inside but Louis can see that it’s clean – _very_ clean, with nothing out of place and the floor completely visible. It’s quite well-presented and triggers a distant memory of his own house from the first few months after he moved in. It must’ve looked like this once upon a time.

He glances at the deep darkness at the top of the stairs, but all is quiet in the house, so Louis tip toes towards the front door, unlocks it with the key sitting on the inside of the lock, and carefully turns the knob. It doesn’t squeak or moan like his door – Louis imagines Liam regularly oiling every hinge in his house.

It’s strange, looking out into the street from Liam’s house. Everything seems slightly off centre. He walks down the lawn and deposits the box he’s holding before going back inside and grabbing another. He carries about half the boxes out onto the lawn, practically panting with exertion, the front door sitting steadily open as it’s a breezeless night. There’s minimal light with only the street lights humming dimly and nothing else, but Louis’ grateful.

It takes at least ten minutes to empty the first box and untangle all the lights. They’re packed up neatly, wound together like Louis would expect of Liam, but pulling them all out makes a mess. He goes back around to the side of the house to retrieve the ladder, leaning it up over the porch and grabbing the string of icicles he’d so viciously pulled down a few days ago.

Halfway through putting them up, Louis realises he has no memory of where Liam had originally put all the decorations – which strings of lights went where, which lawn motifs were in front and which were behind – and is suddenly aware that this is not at all going to be the beatific gesture he’d originally hoped it would be.

Well, it would have to do.

He finds that all the nails that Liam had originally hammered in are still in place, so he doesn’t need to add that to his already-disappointing lack of stealth. He’s making quite enough noise almost dropping every box he brings outside, given his weakling arms and inability to see over the top of some of the open flaps. A constant litany of curses spills from his lips as he unearths more and more decorations he has no recollection of seeing in the mass of lights, and tries to climb up and down the ladder without becoming a body Liam finds on his front lawn in the morning.

He places the small gaggle of singing elves back where they were, making sure they’re standing extra straight – he feels particularly guilty about them. There are wires running all over the place and Louis doesn’t know how Liam didn’t trip over them every day crossing his own lawn, but Louis has stopped counting the number of times he’s face planted purely to preserve his own dignity.

He very poorly wraps a few strings of lights around the shrubs and lower branches of the trees and then steps back to see that they look a little mopey, hanging much lower than Liam had done. He does, however, line up the candy canes perfectly on either side of the path, so he gives himself a pat on the back for that.

He’s down to the final box, thinking about how he’s technically still only halfway through all the boxes Liam has towered in the garage, and starts climbing the ladder with another string in hand. He’s already strung half a dozen against the front of the house, trying to space them evenly, but with some difficulty in the dark. There’s a gap just above the icicles and he feels for a line of nails, finds it, and starts draping the lights across before moving the ladder over to keep going. He’s halfway up the ladder again when he hears a husky shout from somewhere below.

“Hey! Hey – who’s there!”

Louis jumps, and his foot slips, and suddenly he’s tumbling back off the ladder and falling the five feet to the ground, clutching the fairy lights like they’re a life line. They get caught on the nails and slow his fall but he still lands with a respectable thud, the wind knocking out of his lungs.

There’s more yelling but Louis can’t quite make it out over his own groaning.

“What d’you think you’re—” There’s a pause and the heavy footfalls stop. “Louis? Oh my god.”

Quick steps approach and then Liam’s head is hanging upside down over Louis, hands splayed like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Are you okay? Oh god, how far did you fall?”

Louis groans again, shifting on his back. He closes his eyes and when he opens them Liam is still hanging over him, right side up, and his hands have a firm grip on his shoulders. They always had been surprisingly good at being gentle despite their gargantuan size.

“Louis? Can you hear me?”

“I landed on me back. My ears aren’t damaged, you idiot.”

Liam sighs with relief in the face of Louis’ verbal abuse, and then he’s pulling Louis slowly upright, one hand supporting his back.

“I thought you were a burglar.”

Liam is running his hands up and down Louis’ body, checking for injuries or broken bones, and Louis had imagined this more than he’d like to admit even to himself, ever since watching Liam haul his own furniture over the threshold of his new home. He can’t quite form words in the face of this becoming a reality, and tingles follow Liam’s every touch.

“The front door was open and I could hear all this noise, you were so loud, and I thought—”

“Could you shut it for a second? My head…”

“I thought you fell on your back.”

Louis flips him off on the way to clutching his forehead. Liam gently rubs his back with one hand and holds his inferior bicep with the other, and Louis isn’t sure if he’s halfway to passing out because of that or the fall.

He manages to look up at Liam, whose face is largely shrouded in darkness, but Louis’ eyes have managed to adjust and he can see concern etched in every line. Liam looks around, finally taking in the mess of empty boxes and Christmas decorations sprawled out all over the lawn.

“What’re you…”

His eyes do a proper scan and then he looks up at where the ladder’s sitting, brows climbing up at the fairy lights strung all across the front of his house. His eyes drop back to Louis, who smiles weakly.

“Was gonna try and surprise you,” he shrugs. He regrets that immediately, muscles pulling tight with the motion. “Try and make it up to you.”

Liam’s pulling on his arm then, and he helps Louis to his feet. He’s unsteady for a second but then he’s trying to pry himself out of Liam’s grip – Liam doesn’t let go. He just looks at him, eyes wide and a little confused.

“Why’d you do it?” Liam asks, and he doesn’t need to specify.

Louis looks down at his shoes, kicking at a tuft of grass. “Dunno. I mean, partly ‘cause I couldn’t sleep with all the lights shining in my windows, but mostly ‘cause I’m an idiot.”

Liam shakes his head, but he doesn’t seem angry. He does seem to be something, but Louis isn’t sure what.

“’m sorry,” Louis finally works up the courage to say. He pretends not to notice his voice break halfway through, and thankfully so does Liam.

“It’s okay.”

And Louis bristles at that. How can it be okay?

He asks Liam that very same thing, a little bite back in his tone. “After what I did, how can you just brush it off like that? Just forgive and forget?”

Liam gives this bashful half shrug and smiles softly, hand still warm against Louis’ shoulders. He’s just looking at Louis, whose so furious with this act of kindness that he surges forward and crashes his mouth into Liam’s, hoping that it hurts just a bit.

Liam gasps against his mouth at first, but he adjusts a little quicker than Louis anticipates and soon enough he’s the one controlling the kiss while Louis just hangs on for dear life. Gripping Liam’s shoulders, he slowly allows his hands to slide down the long line of his back, and Liam’ arms loop around his waist to pull them flush against each other, hands and mouth impossibly warm.

Too warm. Louis’ heart is beating fast, radiating waves of heat through his body, and he pushes into the kiss, scared that if he pulls away it’ll be the last he feels of Liam’s lips. He’s already pushed it this far and if it’s his only chance, he may as well make it everything – but then Liam is softening the kiss, and Louis pushes a breath of relief out against his mouth.

It’s at least a few more minutes before he’s breathing through his mouth again, Liam holding him firm at the waist when he pulls back, and Louis’ hands are still holding onto Liam’s shoulders, the only thing now keeping him upright. His lips tingle and so do his toes, and Liam’s just smiling at him, eyes crinkled and hair curling slightly without any product. Even in the dim light of the inadequate streetlights Louis can see Liam’s cheeks are a little coloured and his lips are slightly swollen. He chest gives a dangerous clench of pride at being responsible.

He’s not exactly sure how to move on from this moment, but Liam slings one arm around his shoulders and turns them so they’re standing side by side, facing the house.

“So what’ve you done here?”

Louis clears his throat to make sure his voice is still in working order. “My finest work, obviously. Gonna blow yours out of the water, I’m sure.”

“Let’s have a look, then.” Liam steps away and gathers up all the wires dangling near the porch. There’s a large power board off to the side, safety tucked away from the elements, and he plugs all the lights in, switching on the power.

The house and yard light up magnificently. Well, there’s a magnificent number of lights, but the design is a little less masterful than Louis had hoped for. The lights across the front of the house are fairly uneven, the lights in the trees are hanging below the branches rather than amongst them, and the motifs along the grass are all out of line and scattered oddly. Louis is proud to see the candy canes are perfect.

“I guess it leaves a little to be desired,” he says, tipping his head as Liam comes to stand at his side again, taking it all in. Liam just lets out a laugh and wraps one of those ridiculous, awful, wonderful arms around Louis’ shoulders, pulling him in.

“Come on, let’s get this sorted.”


End file.
